Coulrophobia
by Lexikal
Summary: A serial child-killer who dresses like a clown and calls himself "Pennywise" attracts the attention of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Rated M for violence and the death of children/dark themes. Read internal summary for more info.
1. Chapter 1: Stranger Danger

**Title:** Coulrophobia by Lexikal

**Fandom:** IT (the Stephen King story) crossed with Criminal Minds

**Rating:** M for violence, language, etc...

**Warning:** Because this story is partially based on "IT" (this is an "IT" and "Criminal Minds" crossover) this story DOES contain the murders of children. I haven't tagged it as a tragedy as none of the major characters from either "IT" or "Criminal Minds" actually die, but it does contain death... _"Pennywise" is, after all, a child-murderer._

**Summary:** What if Pennywise wasn't an eternally evil supernatural being, but a flesh-and-blood cannibalistic serial killer known as "Bob Gray"? A sadistic predator of children who the team must stop before he kills again? And what if his father had trained him to "follow in the family footsteps", so to speak... a tradition of murder dating back over 200 years? Interested? Then read on... and **please review**! Oh yeah, and the title "_Coulrophobia_" is the technical term for a Clown phobia.

**Author's Note:** Obviously I don't own the characters from "Stephen King's IT" or "Criminal Minds". No money is made from this... my only payment are the reviews I get from readers. (Hint, please review!)

And yes, I realize "Derry" is a fictional town in Maine, and doesn't actually exist.

* * *

"_Childhood is a promise that is never kept."- Ken Hill_

_**March 15, 2010, Derry, Maine, 3:16 pm...**_

He watched from his place in the storm drain; wig and bald cap firmly in place with spirit gum, red rubber nose firmly snug, white grease paint thick and a little bit oily. It was raining, and the water was trickling in, a medium brown, like diluted coffee. It was almost too perfect, too easy. The child playing not 20 feet away in a shallow puddle was wearing a yellow rain jacket and stomping up and down happily.

_Like Georgie... one of his father's firsts._

Robert Gray Junior let his eyes- an unnatural yellow due to specially made contact lenses- gaze towards the sky. It was a robin's egg blue, a rainbow just starting to blossom in the sky as the clouds parted and the sun split through like a cleaver.

The clown in the storm drain glanced up and down the street, but it was empty. Except for the kid, of course. He'd stalked this kid for weeks, and knew the boy's routine. Knew that this kid, in particular, was often left unattended for long periods and that his house was fairly secluded. By the time anyone heard him scream _(if_ they heard him scream), and could respond, well... it was too perfect.

The storm drain was only about a foot high, but not barred. Not anymore. That gave him enough room to at least grab the kid. He wouldn't be able to pull him completely inside, of course, but he could... get a taste. It was now or never.

"Hey... _Tommy_..." He called in the raspy, slightly goofy mock-voice his father had taught him when he'd been growing up. The "hunting" voice his father had called it. The voice was as important as the costume, and dated back over 200 years.

The kid looked up, turning around. He looked confused.

"Tommy! Over _here_!" Bob Gray called melodically. He reached one gloved hand out and beckoned the boy. The boy gaped, as if not believing what he was seeing, but came closer. As if hypnotized. Like they all did.

Ten feet away... five feet away... Three feet away now. Almost close enough to grab._ Almost_. But if he got loose... no. He'd have to wait...

That was the beauty of seven year olds. They were too stupid for their own good.

"Are- are you a _clown_?" Thomas Doogle said as he approached the killer. "What... what are you doing down there?" The child stooped and stared into the storm drain, narrowing his eyes for a better look.

"This rain we've been havin'... it washed me away! Right from the_ circus_! Can you believe _that_?"

The boy licked his lips nervously. Robert Gray beamed his friendliest smile. Thomas smiled back uncertainly.

"I- I have never seen a_ clown_ in the sewers before..."

Robert Gray bent down and opened a bag he'd brought with him. Pulled the wriggling, warm body up. Held it up to the young boy. So the kid could see.

"Have you ever seen a_ puppy_ in a sewer before?" Gray said, giggling delightedly. The boy's eyes almost bugged out of his head. Gray knew the kid was his now; he'd heard this kid babbling about Chocolate Labs for well over a year.

"Is that...? That's my _favourite_ type of dog!" The boy crooned in delight, making a move to pet the animal. The puppy whined and wriggled in the white, gloved hands. But then, at the last moment, the kid pulled back. Gray felt his heart racing, the excitement of the hunt fully underway. If he lost this kid now... there would be a witness. A child rambling about a clown in a storm drain with a puppy, but still... he didn't want that.

"What do you say, kiddo? How about a pat for good old Fido here?"

"Does he bite?" Thomas said uncertainly, glancing quickly back over at his house. If his father saw him talking to a stranger... _no matter how weird the circumstances..._ he'd be in trouble. But no. His father still wasn't home. Wouldn't be home till 5 again, probably. Maybe later.

"Nah, he doesn't bite." The clown said, grinning wider.

"Well... I don't _know_..." Thomas said uncertainly and reached his hand out slowly.

"How 'bout we make a deal? I can't exactly take care of him down here, now, can I? If he likes you... he's yours! How is _that_ for a deal, Kiddo?"

Tommy Doogle grinned from ear to ear. That sounded like one hell of a deal! Even his father had said that if he could save up the money needed for the dog, he'd let him get it. Tommy so far had 50 dollars saved from his paper route and mowing lawns, and from some snow shovelling from the previous winter, but the pups he wanted were over 200 dollars. But _this_ puppy! It was even_ better_ than the certified chocolate labs he'd seen in Portland!

"You mean it? I can just... _have_ him?"

"'Course ya can have him. I told you, I got swept down here by the rain, and I'm guessing this little guy did, too... I have no use for him. And I can't take him with me. No dog food at the Circus, only people food..."

That was all it took.

Tommy's arm shot out and he reached towards the puppy.

Bob Gray's hunting instincts took over then. The puppy was immediately dropped and forgotten like the bait it was and he grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him towards the grate, relishing the sound of the bright, neon scream that pierced the air. An electric, anguished scream. There was a ripping sound, and then... oh _yes_. The kid slumped and began to convulse. The bright red essence splattering and running and mixing with the rain water.

He hadn't even had the time to scream for help. It had been that fast. A clean kill.

Bob Gray pulled on one of the arms, but it wouldn't come off... he felt in the bag and pulled out his buck knife.

He was hungry.

* * *

"Victim is Thomas Doogle, aged seven, from Derry, Maine," J.J. told the team, flicking a button on the projector. A school portrait of the smiling, gap-toothed 7 year old was projected onto the overhead. The all-American boy next door, the type of kid that looked like his goal in life was to grow up to be a soldier or a fireman, and like his favourite game might be playing "War".

"He was found about 5 pm yesterday," J.J. clicked a button again and another photograph appeared. The boy slumped over in the street, in the curb, a wide puddle of crimson blood surrounding his head and missing arm. Another click and there was a close-up shot of the face; shock-white, mouth open in an eternal scream, eyes open and unseeing.

"The M.E. estimated that he was killed about two hours before his body was discovered," J.J. continued with a sigh.

"2 hours?" Rossi asked, staring hard at the image of the child's corpse. "The boy was 7? Why wasn't he noticed missing sooner?"

"His school lets out at 2:45 p.m. and he was being raised by his father... his mother died in 2006 from breast cancer. The father didn't get home until 5:00 pm." J.J. said sadly.

"Plus, Maine is statistically one of the safest states to live in," Reid piped up. "Many people move there _specifically_ to raise children, and Derry is a small town with a population of 15,368 people."

"Probably the kind of place where people still feel safe leaving their doors unlocked," Prentiss murmured. There was another click, and another child appeared.

"This is Bonita Hayes, also seven. Like Thomas, she was found mutilated, only three days earlier. Unlike Thomas, whose arm was partially ripped, and then cut from his body, teeth marks were found where the flesh had been..." J.J. lowered her voice, expression grim. "...bitten and then..._ripped_ _away from her face and chest_."

"They do a dental impression and run it?" Hotch asked as J.J. flipped through the crime scene images of the girl.

"Yes, that confused the local coroner. The death was first ruled a mauling, blamed on _wolves _if you can believe it..."

"_Why_?" Hotch said.

"Bonita was found in the middle of the woods, a local hot-spot for slightly older kids to hang out in, apparently. She'd been dragged through the underbrush for quite some distance, and based on her injuries, dragged very quickly, like, _well_... like a dead animal in something's mouth, something four-legged, according to the coroner's initial findings. The teeth marks were... decidedly canine in shape. We're talking fangs here, not normal human incisors. Whoever...or _whatever_... did this..."

"Humans can modify their physical appearance with plastic surgery and can file down their teeth," Hotch said evenly. "Combined with the fact that there is evidence of cannibalism in both cases, we're most likely looking at a disorganized killer suffering from severe delusions."

"The consumption of human flesh and blood has been considered, throughout the ages and many cultures, to be of significant restorative benefit. Many primal tribes today _still_ believe that consuming the flesh or blood of their enemies will give them the power or knowledge or other attributes of the dead... and in the case of children, whose blood also carries potential religious significance..." Reid rambled and then stopped when he realized the entire team had fallen silent and was staring at him.

"_What_?"Reid said, glancing around.

"How many other suspicious deaths involving young children being partially eaten have been reported in Derry?" Hotch said, turning back to J.J.

"11 in the last 6 months," J.J. said in a sombre tone.

'Why didn't we get this case sooner?" Hotch asked, obviously exasperated.

"The locals were certain these children were mauled by wolves or wild dogs, apparently."

"Despite the fact that wolves are generally timid around humans, even children, and won't attack unless provoked, and that compared to most other predatory mammals they rank amongst the least threatening for their size and predatory potential..." Reid stopped again. "_Sorry_."

"What, no statistics, kid?"

"_Actually_..."

"Actually," Hotch interjected. "Grab your go-bags. Wheels up in 15. You two can discuss canines on the jet."

"Yes, sir," Reid said, ducking his head, waiting until Hotch was out of earshot before turning his attention back to Morgan.

"I _do_ have statistics on wolf attacks on humans, Morgan, but..."

"Do you have statistics for how many_ people_ file their teeth down, attack and then eat children in North America every year?" Morgan said bluntly. Reid looked confused.

"Not _yet_, but once Garcia gives me the file and the stats for Derry I might be able to..."

"Forget it," Morgan scoffed, shaking his head as he marched off to get his things.

"_What_?" Reid called as he proceeded to his own desk to get his bag.

* * *

Sorry this chapter is so short, I just wanted to post this to see how it does/whether anyone likes the idea (so if you read it and liked it, **please review**). I don't plan on abandoning it, but it might be put on the back burner if it doesn't do well... so if you like it and want more, be sure to let me know! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Twilight Zone Creepy

**Title:** Coulrophobia by Lexikal (Chapter Two)

**Fandom:** IT (the Stephen King story) crossed with Criminal Minds

**Rating:** M for violence, language, the death of children, etc...

**Warning:** Very dark themes, read the warnings from chapter one for more info. Don't read if underage.

**Notes:** Yes, I _know_, I wrote that Pennywise appears every 20-30 years in this chapter, when according to the book and movie it's every 30 years, or _almost_ every 30 years. However, the movie was released in 1990, and since _this_ story takes place in 2010, well... I had to alter it to "20-30 years" for obvious reasons. Sorry if this bugged any hard-core "IT" fans, but this _is_ a cross-over, and this Pennywise isn't supernatural but just a regular serial killer (albeit a very creepy one). Suffice to say, there have been sufficient changes made to the Pennywise character but I hope you still find him creepy. There are also date changes as far as the "loser" club (the 7 main IT) characters are concerned, and obviously because this is a cross-over it is AU and some of the events of the movie never happened in this fic. Sorry for any confusion. **Please review!**

**Edit Note: **I had to delete the second chapter and reupload because when I re-read on ff dot net, I noticed too many grammatical errors and typos. Sorry for any confusion!

**

* * *

**

"_There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them"- Andre Gide_

_**March 16**__**th**__**, 2010, somewhere in the sky between Quantico, VA and Derry, Maine, 9:35 a.m...**_

"You know," Reid said to the team when they were settled on the jet and in the air. "If this UnSub has been engaging in cannibalism for a long time, it could explain the delusional behaviour..."

"Yeah, like cannibalism to begin with_ isn't_ delusional," Morgan drawled.

"Not in _all_ cultures," Reid argued. "Unhealthy and misguided, based in superstition, yes, but not _necessarily_ delusional."

"Except we aren't talking about a tribe of pacific-islanders eating _long-pig_ here, kid," Morgan reminded Reid. "We're talking about an UnSub in the twenty-first century, working and operating in America. Hence, he's delusional."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking about _increased_ delusions."

"Like your evil twin and _eviler_ twin, thing?" Prentiss said dryly, smiling. Reid shrugged.

"Cannibalism has been tied to Kuru, or transmissible spongiform encephalopathy, which can increase psychosis. Kuru is more commonly seen in the cannibalism of actual flesh –_anthropophagy_- versus strict _hematophagy_, or the consumption of blood alone. Did you guys know that the word "prion" is actually a portmanteau derived from the words protein and infection?" Reid grinned at this, as if he found the word-blend humorous.

"Reid?" Hotch asked, leaning forward earnestly. "Do you know any portmanteaux for overly-analytical and tangential?"

Reid was quiet for a moment, seriously thinking over the question. Finally he shook his head. The rest of the team grinned widely at his response, except for Hotch, who just smirked into his hand.

"Portmanteau?" Prentiss said, still smiling. "Isn't that a leather trunk or suitcase?"

"Usually, except in linguistics, in which it's a blend of two words or morphemes- a morpheme being the smallest unit of a word that has a semantic meaning- into a single _new_ word and..."

The computer sputtered on and Garcia appeared, chewing on the end of a bendy-pen.

"Thank _God_," Morgan muttered.

"How nice of you to say, my sweet," Garcia said to Morgan, before sobering. "I have been trying to track down anything on our victims out there in good old Derry. So far no obvious connection between the victims aside from the fact that they are all children and all from Derry. Almost all of them went to the same school, but there are only two Elementary schools so that's hardly surprising. They've all been eight or under, except for one boy named Patrick McKinney who was 11, but very small for his age, found near a water tower face down in a bird bath, his..." Garcia stopped talking, apparently distressed.

"What, Garcia?" Hotch prompted gently.

"His intestines had been removed, but not surgically. Torn out." Garcia was quiet for a moment, before finally pulling herself back together.

"Apart from that, the only other connection is most of the victims were considered loners, or walked home alone. But, again, this is a small town and _most_ of the kids in Derry probably walk home alone so..."

"Anything else baby-doll? From the crime scenes? _Anything_?"

"No fingerprints but the victims' found at any of the crime scenes, same thing with the blood... all the DNA trace evidence that has been found at each crime scene, except for saliva in the bite wounds, has belonged to the victims. The saliva has been processed, but so far no hits. Also, no struggling or defensive wounds on the victims, like skin under the kids' fingernails or bruises, nothing to suggest they put up a fight. Whoever killed these kids did it quickly."

Garcia was silent for a moment. She looked particularly disturbed.

"So the kids might have known the UnSub or the UnSub is someone who appears non-threatening to children," Rossi prompted, and Garcia looked up and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah... that's the weird thing. The only other bit of information on the case... Patrick McKinney's older brother, a twelve year old named Richard, claimed that he saw... you guys aren't going to believe this. The local PD certainly didn't."

"What, Garcia?" Hotch ordered.

"Richard said that a few times when he was walking Patrick home from school in the weeks before the murder, he heard what sounded like... laughing... or_ giggling_..."

"_And_...?"

"Okay, here is where it goes from really wrong and creepy to _Twilight Zone_ creepy... apparently Richard was the one to find Patrick. He'd been walking ahead of him, taking a short-cut across a lawn near the water tower and realized a block from his house that Patrick wasn't behind him. So he trailed back. And he said that, just before he saw Patrick's body, he glanced over and... and the kid _swears_ this...he saw what looked like a clown. Standing near a copse of trees about 100 feet away._ Waving_ at him."

"A _clown_?" Hotch said flatly, looking around at the rest of his team.

"I told you, really _Outer Limits_, right?"

"Did Richard McKinney _describe_ the clown?" Reid said, leaning forward toward the screen.

"Yes. He actually drew a picture of it, to the best of his memory. Of course the local police think it was just the kid's imagination. Not to mention the local urban legend... that it's his way of dealing with his brother's murder..."

"What urban legend, Garcia?" Rossi said.

"The local police didn't tell you?" The tech sounded amazed. "Apparently, for the last 200 years or so, the good children of Derry have been terrorized every 20-30 years by some all-powerful child-killer who commonly appears in the shape of a clown, but is said to possess the ability to change into whatever shape or form frightens the child-victim the most."

"Did Richard McKinney's drawing resemble the stereotype of the Derry...clown?" Rossi asked.

"To a tee, apparently, although I haven't seen the drawing myself. The police, of course, didn't bother to hang onto it. I only found out about the clown and the statement because Richard is 12 and is in the gifted program at the local high school. And was apparently, with good reason, freaked out and really upset that no-one would believe him..."

"High school?" Reid asked.

"Yeah, he's 2 grades ahead, my love. Smart... but not _Reid smart_."

"Okay, so a gifted 12-year-old claims he saw this clown. That changes everything." Rossi murmured.

"Why?" Garcia said.

"Because at 12, he is old enough to know the difference between fantasy and reality, especially if he is gifted. You have an IQ score on the boy?"

"Uh...yes. He tested in at an impressive 151 on the WISC."

"So he definitely knows what is real and what isn't, and also the seriousness of telling the truth, especially following the murder of his brother. This boy has no reason to say he saw a clown..."

"If he didn't." Hotch finished glumly.

"So you think there really might be some... psycho out there? Dressed up like Ronald McDonald from Hell and murdering these children?" Garcia asked, visibly shuddering.

"Right now we have to assume that," Hotch said.

"Ugh," Garcia shivered, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. "I _hate_ clowns. I have _always hated_ clowns..."

"Garcia, do you think you could make some calls? Maybe try to get in touch with Richard McKinney's parents and let them know we are coming, that we are interested in talking to their son? And also, if you could see if the other victims had siblings, and if the siblings saw anything?"

"On it, Captain," Garcia told Hotch. And the screen went black.

* * *

Richard McKinney sat on his bed, starring at a photo album. Him and Patrick, stretching back to when they'd been infants together. People had said they looked so similar, they could pass for twins. Except that Patrick had been tiny, so tiny... and so quiet.

"Richard, do you still have the drawing you did of the man you saw the day... the day Patrick died?" Reid asked the young boy softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

Richard glanced up, expression unreadable. "I showed the police already. They thought it was just my imagination, or shock... or something."

"I'd still be very interested to see the drawing... if you still have it, that is."

Richard nodded and got up off his bed, leaving the photo album open. He crossed over to his closet, pulled it open, and fished a shoebox out from the back of it. He brought the shoebox back to his bed and opened it. Reid craned his head to see the contents.

Typical boy's stuff. Dog-earred comic books, marbles, bubble gum, a sling-shot. Derry really was like a time-capsule though. There were also some balsa wood gliders and green army men, not to mention lead soldiers and what looked like fire crackers. And a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. Richard gently picked up the package of cigarettes and opened it, then pulled a folded piece of paper from the pack and handed the drawing to Reid. He pulled a cigarette from the pack, then went to his desk and rummaged for the lighter.

"Wanna smoke?" the boy asked, glancing over at Reid. Reid stared at him, then shook his head. Richard shrugged and lit up, taking a few, deep puffs, his nicotine stained fingers pinching the smoke like a joint.

Reid unfolded the drawing. Blinked.

"You're a very good artist, Richard," Reid said softly, eyes scanning over the ink and pencil-crayon sketch. Richard shrugged, as if indifferent to the compliment.

The clown Reid was looking at had the usual white face, and a bald cap that was also white, the grease paint blended to form a seamless scalp. Only the very top of the bulbous head was actually bald- the sides of the head were flanked with bright fire-engine-red hair, obviously fake, and not real hair that had been dyed.

The nose looked like a rubber ball that had somehow been glued or otherwise attached to the tip of the nose, and what wasn't covered by the ball- the nostrils primarily- had been painted the same bright red. The lips, also, were the same bright red as both the hair and the nose, but unlike the clowns Reid was familiar with, the lips hadn't been exaggerated- the red of the mouth hadn't been extended beyond the lips to make the grin look wider. In fact, the mouth hadn't been painted to appear to be smiling at all, and if anything, the thin red lipstick on the thin, dour lips seemed somewhat effeminate, as did the skinny, slightly arched black "eyebrows" that had clearly been painted on with stencils, and the heavy black eye makeup rimming the lower and upper eyelids like the kohl-blackened makeup of the ancient Egyptians.

The top eye-lids were additionally rimmed with a thin layer of royal blue, the bottom eyelids contained tiny black vertical points.

The clothing itself was so multicoloured and detailed that Reid was surprised the kid had managed to remember so much detail, especially following such a traumatic event.

"Richard?" Reid asked softly, tapping the boy's drawing.

"Yes, sir?" Richard asked meekly, his voice and body language not meshing well with the cavalier way he was illegally smoking that cigarette.

"This is a really... well done drawing, like I said. But it's also really detailed. Did you by any chance..."

"I have an eidetic memory," the boy huffed, as if he'd had to justify his memory before. Probably more than once or twice by the sounds of it.

"So do I," Reid admitted, staring back down at the drawing again, noticing that the boy seemed to relax then.

"I figured if I could remember that much detail, to draw it all down. As well as I could. In case it might be important..."

"That was smart. Listen...do you mind if I hold onto this picture?"

Richard stared at Reid and gave him a small, self-deprecating smile.

"Take it. I can always draw another one... unfortunately."

Reid got up to leave the child to his demons. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard the low, hesitant cough. Reid turned.

"Agent Reid?"

Spencer Reid waited for the boy to speak, expression patient. Open. When it became obvious Richard McKinney wouldn't speak unless verbally instructed, Reid said, "Yes?"

"You do believe me... I mean, about seeing the clown. Don't you?"

"I do," Reid said honestly, refolding the drawing and tucking it into his pants pocket.

"As for my memory... you can check yourself. My IQ and memory were both tested and are on file. Your computer tech can probably get access to my test info and..."

"Richard, I believe you... you don't have to convince me," Reid said gently, trying to mollify the boy.

"Yeah, well... you're the first, then."

Reid nodded sadly. He didn't know what to say to that. But it didn't really matter. Richard McKinney had turned back to the photo album and was paging through it, lost in, from the looks of it, bittersweet memories.

Spencer Reid gently shut the door.

* * *

That's it for chapter two. I realize this chapter isn't as creepy as the first. Oh well. Pennywise will be back, of course, and then things will get creepy again... please review!


	3. Chapter 3: The Maw

**Title:** Coulrophobia by Lexikal (Chapter Three)

**Fandom:** IT (the Stephen King story) crossed with Criminal Minds

**Rating:** M for violence, language, the death of children, etc...

**Warning:** Very dark themes, read the warnings from chapter one for more info. Don't read if underage.

**Author's Note/Goof:** I wrote that Thomas Doogle was killed on May 15th, 2010 at 3:16 p.m.; however that would've been a_ Saturday_ so he wouldn't have been at school that day like I said. Instead of deleting, changing the date, and re-uploading the first chapter, I'll have Reid bring up that the kid's father was working two jobs, which meant the kid was alone all day on the weekends. Sorry, I know it's a bit of a plot hole, but the few times I have deleted published stories to fix typos I didn't see the first two times through, all my reviews, etc were/are erased. Also, I recently erased, fixed and re-uploaded "_We Don't Like Zombies_" and my page now has the wrong number of stories listed (I am not sure if this will fix itself or not). Not perfect or ideal, but better than deleting chapter 1, fixing and re-uploading. Also, if anyone knows how to fix typos after a story has been published (or if that's even possible) please pm me. Oh, and **please review!** Thanks! Oh, and the team got the info about Tommy Doogle's death early Sunday morning (March 16th) and flew over. Hope that makes sense now.

* * *

_**Sunday, March 16**__**th**__**, 2:15 p.m.**_

She was wearing a pale pink dress with buttons down the front and a ribbon waist. She had little white ribbons in her golden hair and was climbing the tree again, knees scraped and slapped over with band-aids. She was laughing. _The little loner_. Bob watched her from behind the tree-line, concealed from the road. It was a Sunday, and the rest of the kids had scattered, but this little loner- Margaret Steadman- was here again. Climbing the same tree behind the Baptist church. Peering into the upper branches to see the baby robins. He heard her coo with delight. He smiled hungrily.

He'd heard earlier at the local diner that the FBI were in town. Looking for a child killer. He'd asked Mac, the Diner-Owner, what the word on the grapevine was, but Mac didn't really know. Just that the dead kids had to have been killed by something other than wolves if the FBI were here for Christ's sake. Right? Robert Gray had shrugged. Then Mac had chuckled.

"My cop friend, Pete, says that that poor McKinney boy- the one who found his brother- he claims he saw a clown." Mac laughed again. "Been hearing the same damn talk of clowns around here my entire freakin' life."

"A _clown_?" Bob Gray said, and chuckled. "Kids, huh?" Mac laughed again too. Nodded.

So the FBI were here. He'd have to be a little more careful. They didn't think the deaths were attacks from wild animals then, not if the FBI were here. He'd made a fairly sophisticated device to snatch the flesh off with, and still planned to use it. If for no other reason than the tool had taken quite some time to build and was... well... _fun_.

It was like a pair of large scissors, made of steel, except the scissors had a front and side like a real mouth and worked with a spring motion. Extremely strong, that tool. He'd even built steel "teeth" into the tool's "mouth", closely studying the mouths of wolves from research he'd done at the local library in the reference section. He'd even tested the damn thing on frozen meat before using it on his first kill, and regularly checked it over for damage. Cleaned it. The tool- which he simply called "the maw"- could break apart bones in seconds with a few quick snaps. He'd even managed to fine-tune the thing so that, like a wolf's jaws, it could deliver 1500 pounds of pressure per square inch of flesh... or very nearly so. He'd thought all that would be enough.

"Yeah but didn't Doc Bates say these were _definitely_ wolf attacks? The teeth were definitely canine I heard," Bob Gray had insisted. "Didn't these poor kids... weren't there 42 teeth marks on them? From the_ bites_?"

Mac shrugged. "I dunno. Why?"

"Well, adult humans have 32 teeth, not 42. So I wonder what the FBI plans to do... arrest the wolves?"

Mac laughed again. "What are you, a _dentist_?"

"Nah, but my Uncle is, and my Daddy used to take me hunting," Bob Gray said smoothly, not missing a beat.

And then he'd ordered French fries and gravy and a cheeseburger with extra bacon. Not as good as the meat he _truly_ craved, bit it would fill the gnawing hanger pangs until... until...

Bob Gray glanced back at the little girl. She was crawling back down out of the tree now, deftly, and then finally jumped the last three feet to the soft, grassy ground.

"Hey, _Margie_," Bob Gray crooned teasingly, and peeked his head out from behind the tree he'd been using as a blind. Margaret Steadman was eight and a little tomboy, despite the dresses her parents probably insisted she wear.

"Huh?" She looked over, and then laughed. "You're a clown! What are you doing in the woods?"

"I got left here last summer by the Circus... accidentally, of course," Bob Gray rasped out in a gravelly voice, stepping a bit closer.

"So now I entertain the elves in the woods..."

Ordinarily he'd just rush and grab her now. They were fairly secluded and he knew if she bolted he could probably chase her down. But he had left the maw-tool behind a tree quite a bit further in, and wanted to lure her _there_. Also, if anyone else- even a _child_- saw a clown in the woods while the FBI was in town, well... that wouldn't be good, now, would it?

"How do you know my name?" Margaret Steadman said, grinning, staring at the brightly coloured costume.

"I'm a clown. A _special_ clown... sort of like _Santa Claus_..."

"I don't believe in _Santa Claus_." The little girl said, grinning wider.

"Oh, of course you don't. Not a big, grown-up eight-year-old like _you_."

"That's right. But Eric still does." Margaret said happily.

"Ahhh, of course, _Eric_. Your little brother. Well, most three-year-olds do, now, don't they?"

Margaret Steadman nodded effusively.

"What's your name?" The child asked then, tilting her head.

"Me...well. The other clowns... they call me _Pennywise_."

"Pennywise!" the girl laughed, and scratched the side of her neck, a bug bite maybe. "Why Pennywise?"

"Because I am really good at saving... my pennies. Saving for a _rainy day_. But... but I need your help..." Bob Gray pouted dramatically.

"My help? I'm just a kid."

"I'm really hungry. I had a lunch pail, but I went for a walk this morning and now I can't find it... do you think you could help an old clown out?"

"_Well_..." the girl trailed. Robert Gray still hadn't stepped out of the woods. If anyone looked out at the field they would only see a little girl near the entrance to the copse of trees, facing the trees, apparently talking to herself. They'd probably think she was playing pretend. Or talking to another child, maybe.

"I'm not really supposed to go anywhere with _strangers_..." Margaret said seriously, and crossed her arms. "Even though you seem like a really nice clown..."

"Ya don't want to meet the elves?" Bob Gray gurgled. "You'll be missing out, kiddo!"

"I don't believe in elves, either..." the little girl said seriously.

"Oh, I can assure you, _they_ are very, very _real_. They probably took my lunch pail, in fact. Or at least moved it. They like to play pranks like that..."

"You're just trying to make me laugh! That's what clowns do! You're just a guy with make-up on!"

Somewhere deep in his stomach, Bob Gray felt an anger burning. He'd take his time with this one. Oh _yes_...

"Anyway, I'm_ not_ a stranger. I know _your_ name. You know _my_ name. So that means we're not strangers."

The girl shrugged. "If you say so..." And she stepped into the woods.

"Where...where was it... when you last saw your lunch pail?" the child asked as she walked deeper into the woods.

"Just...I was up near a stream up here. Put my lunch pail down, then I went to _tinkle_... and when I came back... I couldn't find..." Bob Gray laughed. "I think it was behind this tree right_ here_..."

He grabbed her suddenly then, biting with his real teeth. Biting her neck hard and ripping up and out, pleased at the jet of hot blood that shot into the air like a liquid firework, and the fine spray that fell on his face like a salty, intoxicating mist. Her scream- if you could even call it a _scream_- was quick and shrill and startled, like a rabbit that has just had its neck ripped out by a predator. He'd use the_ maw_ later to rip out his teeth marks.

When he was done with his meal, he wrapped the remaining meat with butcher paper and bundled it like a hunter might wrap venison. A little taste for later.

He sat for a long time, licking the crimson liquid from his lips and white gloves. Then he slowly walked to the stream and began to pull off his bald cap and hair, and washed his face in the murky, brown water, scrubbing with the soap he'd brought in his backpack, along with a change of clothes.

It had been much too easy. Like _always._

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I am going to start writing shorter chapters for all my stories. This allows me to update more frequently (so the reader doesn't get bored or forget the plot of the story) and also, makes it easier for me to know what parts of the story are most appealing to the most readers. **Please review! **Thanks! Lexikal


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